


Holiday Feelings

by CheerfullyCynical



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AND to the Master, About the Master, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heterosexual Sex, I do not know how to tag this - Freeform, Other, Sex, Sick Character, The Doctor Actually Expresses Her Feelings, and there's sex, angry doctor, okay, there's a holiday theme somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheerfullyCynical/pseuds/CheerfullyCynical
Summary: She hated him – loathed his entire presence… Hated that he was standing there, looking at her with those eyes, telling her what she should be feeling. She should want him dead. She wanted him dead, just so she no longer had to be hurt by him.The Master was bleeding in her TARDIS… And she was worried.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & The Master (Dhawan), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	Holiday Feelings

It was the holidays.

It was the holidays and, for the first time in thousands of years, she didn’t want to celebrate.

The Doctor loved when her companions had a familiar, yearly happiness to them – something about snow and the idea of family and presents always had their moods high, even if it was just another month. She usually followed her companion’s time, and it was with a heavy heart that the TARDIS announced the first day of December.

The Doctor sighed, trying not to let it bother her. She didn’t want her fam here, or Jack Harkness. Not after they helped her escape prison. She didn’t want anyone around her. The Doctor felt so… That was the problem, she couldn’t define herself, not after what she learned on Gallifrey.

She thought she was going to use this time away from her fam to investigate her past – maybe find Ruth again, or another Doctor floating in the time stream. Maybe she was going to go back to Ireland and cause a ruckus where she knew Time Lords had once been, keeping an eye on a past her.

She missed a lot. She missed her adventures, she missed the simple stars… She felt a familiar pang of loneliness every time she turned her head, only to see empty air.

The TARDIS was her only company.

She patted the old girl’s console, trying to smile, “Just you, me, and the stars, right girl? Just as it should be.”

The TARDIS hummed under her hand. Yeah, at least she still had her ship – her only home.

She spent the next days of December doing much of the same as she did with November – building a few things, flying to a couple of planets looking for supplies, pretending that her scanners pinging for other Time Lords was what she was waiting on.

It was the ninth day of December, deep in the hallways of TARDIS, that she heard a strange noise.

She lifted off her googles, head titling, listening for it again. “Something broken?” She asked the TARDIS, wondering if by tinkering with the filtration system, she had somehow mistakenly rerouted some of the dirty water somewhere that was _not_ the recycling room.

Instead of the TARDIS answering, another _noise_ echoed through the TARDIS.

Now, properly worried, she took off her gloves and got up from her mess of pipes and circuits. She followed the TARDIS’s guiding lights down the hallway, honestly a little surprised to end up in the console room.

“I haven’t touched the engines…” The Doctor muttered, “Something break while we’re in the time stream…?”

The TARDIS _hissed_ at her, obviously displeased with the idea of the Doctor in her most delicate parts... Or in insinuation that she would break doing something so mundane. It was only _one_ time that she accidently fried one of the main circuits, and still the old girl had never forgiven or forgotten it.

That _noise_ again, like a… Like a _bong,_ louder this time, coming from… Her doors? The Doctor wondered if she was truly going insane now – there was no possible way someone or something was in the Time Stream, or had found her there. Time was too unreliable and steady for that to happen.

Still, curiosity the death of her, she stomped over the doors just to prove her own thinking. With one aggressive pull they opened. Her expectation was the swirling colors of oranges and reds of time. Instead, she was greeted with a sight that had her mouth falling open.

“Hello, dear,” The Master said, all put together and _living,_ “Busy?”

She stared. She stared and stared, mind skipping as she processed who was in front of her. He looked so _him –_ all aged confidence and self-righteous emotion. He looked so much like her old friend that she could barely think.

He was dead – he was supposed to be dead. She hadn’t even processed that information yet. She didn’t want to process it.

Then, after the initial shock and anger and ( _how could you leave me – I thought I meant something to you – I thought you were better – I love you – I hate you – how could you…)_ she noticed that he didn’t look well.

“What?” She asked, unable to form another word.

“I’ll give you the quick version,” The Master said, grunting, arm around his middle, “I’m alive, I escaped Gallifrey, the Cyberium is gone, and I’ve been stabbed.”

That didn’t nearly cover what she wanted to ask him, but she found herself moving to the side, letting him stumble into her console room before he collapsed on the very edge of her TARDIS and the front porch of his.

She hated that console configuration – O was still an awful pain in her hearts.

Shaking her head, she watched as he leaned himself against one of the pillars. The pillar glowed red almost immediately, a sign that the TARDIS didn’t approve of their new guest. The Doctor felt the same way.

“Stabbed?” She asked, voice determinably steady, “What, took on something you couldn’t handle?”

He smirked at her, “Sorry to disappoint, love, but this is the Cyberium’s work. I handled it perfectly fine.”

That…Made no sense. The Cyberium was an angry blob of an AI – it wasn’t capable of stabbing someone. Her eyes went down to this torse, to the sight of the large stain – _blood, she realized –_ on his shirt.

She grimaced, shrugging her shoulders, all the years of her lying used to come off as uncaring, “And?”

He scoffed, looking at her unbelievably, “What, no concern for an old friend?”

“You are _not_ my friend!” She said, yelled, really, and immediately deflated. She rubbed at her eyes with one hand, turning her back to him, unwilling to deal with any of this.

She hated him – loathed his entire presence… Hated that he was standing there, looking at her with those eyes, telling her what she should be feeling. She should want him dead. She _wanted_ him dead, just so she no longer had to be hurt by him.

He was bleeding in her TARDIS… And she was _worried._

He said nothing, for once in his life. She didn’t know if that was due to the blood loss, or the fact that she had finally, _really_ yelled. Sure, they had fought, but she had never been _The Oncoming Storm_ to him – never placed him as one of her enemies.

“What do you _want?”_ She asked, turning back towards him, hating that she had the urge to care for him, “You’re hurt, congrats. Regenerate. Rassilon knows you don’t care about the bodies you’re in.”

He stared at her, something piercing and foreign, and the Doctor felt judged. She wondered what time had done to her – what the ages without her fam or anyway that cared did to her. When was the last time she had brushed her hair? 

Slowly, he brought his hand to the inside of his jacket, fishing something out of it. He hesitated, just for a second, then revealed what she knew to be a confession dial.

_Fuck him._

“Don’t you dare,” She said, before she could stop herself, “Don’t you dare stand there and lie to me. How many times have you faked your death? How many times have you used that trick? I won’t grieve for you again – I won’t let you stand there and-and mock everything that we’ve ever had! I don’t even have my past anymore, and now you won’t let me have _us._ ”

Everything _hurt._

“I won’t do this again,” She whispered, then, rolling her shoulders: “Get out.” She demanded. Raged filled her hearts and it was so _satisfying._

His eyes were wide, truly shocked. He was barely standing, using everything he could to keep conscious. She felt something twist in her hearts. She hated that she cared – she loathed that somewhere deep inside her, she craved what she had with him more than she valued her own self-worth.

She sighed, feeling heavy – too weak for the weight of it all. “Why?” She whispered, stepping close enough to touch him. Neither of them moved.

There was truth in his eyes, reminiscent of the friend she wanted so bad, “Not all of us are _graced_ with endless regenerations.”

She might as well have been pushed into a bath of ice. The irony of it would surely kill her. She felt sick to her stomach, all of the rage she felt leaving her as quickly as it come. Because she thought about it – she thought about the amount of _The Masters’_ she had seen, counted in her head, and felt _stupid._

For once in his life, he wasn’t lying.

Before she could catch up with herself, she took a step towards him, taking the confession dial from him and letting it fall to the ground with another clang. He flinched at that, but it wasn’t what she intended with the action. Thinking only of his first face, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

He was taunt against her, arms staying still at his side. For a moment, she feared that he would push her away, deny her this one comfort, but she could only collapse bonelessly into his arms as he wrapped his arms around her, putting his forehead on her shoulder.

The Doctor was cruel, and the Master knew this better than anyone. She could be both the hero and the villain – the one that saved millions and killed more.

What she planned to do felt crueler than anything she had ever done.

She closed her eyes, pushing at herself, bringing regeneration energy to the surface. Trembling, she touched the bare skin of the back of neck, eyes opening as she saw the brightest light behind her eye lids. She watched as it touched his skin, sinking in. Beautiful.

The Master tried to pull away, but she only held tighter. She was thankful he couldn’t see his face.

“It’s okay,” She said, not sure how much she could give him, and yet willing to give him all of it, “It’s alright.”

He said something to her then, something in Gallifreyan and so utterly beautiful, but she didn’t hear it. Instead, all she could feel was his arms around her as fell unconscious.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The Master watched carefully as the Doctor, again, flinched in her sleep, head going side to side as she battled whatever nightmare she had.

His back hurt like nothing else, a different pain than a stab wound that was no longer there, but crying out in protest at his absolute refusal to do anything other than lean back in the Doctor’s colorful armchair. He had to be as close to her as he could, even when he knew that, medically, she seemed fine.

Rassilon, he hated her.

Giving away her regeneration energy like that, rejecting his confession dial, for once in her life being _furious_ with him – treating him with the cruelness he knew that she had inside of her. It would have been a fitting ending, with her hatred of him just enough to get past his death.

Why did she have to save him? He had never deserved it, never even thought she would attempt something like that. It was why he had shown up in the first place, only minutes away from dying. He thought he was ready.

The Doctor whimpered.

The Master’s watched, again, as a look of pain crossed her face. He felt… He hated watching her like that, yet felt some sort of sick satisfaction at it. _Good,_ that she was hurting just as much as he was.

_Why? Why couldn’t he appreciate her for who she was, not what she was?_

He felt her forehead with the back of his hand, making a face at how cold she felt. Time Lords… _She_ always ran hot, and it was nerve wracking at how low her body temperature was now. Worried, again, he stood up and mentally asked the TARDIS for another blanket, maybe one with a heater inside. The TARDIS, loving the Doctor just as much as himself, gave up one immediately, putting it in the closet seconds before he opened the door.

He unfolded it, making sure he could lay it on her completely, but then remembering that the Doctor was no longer the tall Scottish man of her previous body, and now rather the same height as himself. Well, a few inches below him, for once, much to his satisfaction.

Just as he finished turning it on, the Doctor whimpered louder than ever before. The Master froze, watching as she brought her hands to eyes, rubbing at them.

“Freezin,’” she complained, “Did I mess up your heat again, old girl?”

The TARDIS’s lights flashed, and the Doctor’s small smile was enough. She _was_ beautiful, in any regeneration of hers. This one though… This one was something else. Her blonde hair reminded him of her first body, and those warm brown eyes… Maybe he did have a preference.

“No,” He said, breaking the spell, “Something far more idiotic.”

The smile fell from her face. Her eyes opened, and the Master found himself crossing his arms and glaring down at her.

She pushed herself up from the bed. She tried to say something, but she swayed dangerously in place, head going back and forth. By some stupid, childish instinct, the Master found himself in front of her again, pushing on her shoulders and making lay back down in her bed.

“Ow.” She complained, but it didn’t hold any bite. He could almost feel her dizziness through her eyes. Then, she was up again, looking at him. “Why are you still covered in blood? Lemme see.”

Without asking, her hands were on his stomach, pressing firmly, looking for signs of discomfort. He let her, simply because it was easier to let do what she wanted… Or, that was what he told himself. She looked worried – she was worried. It sent a pang through his hearts seeing it. It was so much better than the hatred from before.

“Your TARDIS wouldn’t give me any clothes,” He grumbled, “And would you stop? You healed me, I’m fine.”

She stopped trying to lift up his shirt. A smile quirked on her lips, teasing him, “She’s still angry with you?”

The Master rolled his eyes, the familiar banter much easier than a dying confession, “She’s still bitter about that time your switch the swimming pool and the kitchen, drowning both rooms in the process, isn’t she?”

The Doctor shushed him, “Don’t remind her!”

The Master felt his own smile creep onto his face, “She’s a time machine, I don’t have too.”

She hummed, the moment passed, and her smile dimmed, “Didn’t think you’d stay.”

There was a lot in that small confession. He wondered, too, why he had stayed… Why he even cared. Their last fight, on a planet he didn’t dare name in front of her, had him cursing her very existence. He would have done anything to undo every part of his life.

He would have done anything to have it stop.

“I know.” The Doctor said for him, sadly.

Did she? Did she know how much his hearts hurt with the knowledge he carried? Could she feel how lonely he felt now that she was something unattainable? He couldn’t find it in himself to argue – not when she was currently suffering from helping him.

She shivered, violently, and the Master found himself beside her again, pulling up the blankets.

The Doctor watched his hands closely, eyes wide. “Stay?” She asked, and the Master just barely held in his flinch.

“Why?” He asked her, truly curious, “Why did you do it?”

She bit her lip, “Does it matter?”

Yes, of course it mattered. He couldn’t bare the thought that she was so unattainable, so different than himself. That she was so much _more._

(At night, he dared to wonder if she had truly meant what she said in the Matrix Chamber. Did she really think they she was more than him? She already thought she was better than him, what stopped her from taking it a step further?)

The Master had never wanted to be the last of the Time Lords. All he had wanted was to be with one of them.

_“Run away with me. There’s a whole universe out there! We… We can be together, like we talked about all these years.”_

_“I have a responsibility here! I have a chance of making things right! A family! I love my daughter. You love my daughter.”_

_“We can take her with us! Please. Please don’t let me leave without you… I love you.”_

_“You can stay. Why can’t you stay? Why does it always have to be about you and what you want?”_

_“That’s not what this is! I_ can’t, _don’t you understand? Something’s so wrong here, no matter what I do. I just feel… Feel like I need to run – to get away from all_ this.”

_“You don’t need me to do that. You never have.”_

He should have said yes. He should have followed her as soon as there was a glimpse of war. He lost everything in the Time War – It was only cruel irony that had him leaving Gallifrey just when the Doctor decided to come back and fight.

After he learned of the Timeless Child, he really had nothing left.

“Stay.” The Doctor repeated, their roles reversed, “Just for a moment?”

Dangerous thing, a moment. As a time traveler, she should know better. Still, the bed looked so comforting, and his back was still crying in protest from standing for so long. He moved to sit down, nearly kneeling, when she stopped him with a noise of discomfort.

For a terrible moment, he thought she was mocking him.

“Without the shirt, maybe?” She reminded him, just before he got on the bed, and he can’t help but blush.

Where had all his anger gone?

Without talking himself out of it, he began to unbutton his shirt. The Doctor looked away briefly, always so prudish, but her eyes snap back to him when he finally threw it over his armchair. He knew she had liked to look at O – would always blush when he would put a friendly hand on her shoulder. Same body, slightly different man.

Again, before he could climb into bed, her hand went to his stomach, slightly below his sternum, fingers spanning over where the stab wound once was – unblemished skin, like new, was the only evidence that he had been hurt.

She felt so nice – cold hands, but still, the kind touch was a welcomed change that he hasn’t felt in many years with her.

“Had to get rid of the Cyberium somehow.” He commented, not knowing if he was strong enough to go any further with her, using his words to distract her.

“The Cyberium…?” The Doctor muttered, removing her hand, clearly in thought, “You had to get rid of it, so you stabbed yourself?”

He hummed, “It would have done anything to stay alive, so I gave it an ultimatum.”

She was silent – it was a strange quiet for her, but the Master accepted it quickly. Almost awkwardly, he slide down into the bed, head staring up at the ceiling as she turned on his side, a question burning in her mind so bright that he could nearly feel it on his face.

“What?” He asked, a bit aggressively.

“Why didn’t you just synthesis a gold injection? Point five milligrams of gold diluted with some salt water would have had the Cyberium running – it would have made you weak, but at least not _dead._ ”

He thought about it… And thought some more… And then, to his horror, felt so utterly stupid that he placed a hand over his eyes, groaning. He _knew_ that anything dealing with Cyber technology hated gold. He knew that!

A loud laugh made its way out of her mouth. It was bone deep and had the bed practically vibrating. He felt so embarrassed that he turned his whole body on his side, glaring at her.

She had tears in her eyes at how hard she was laughing, “You-you didn’t know?”

“Course I knew!” He muttered, feeling ridiculous, “I was just… Distracted. It was in my mind!”

“Right,” The Doctor said, giggles dying down, “Of course. Hard to think… With an AI in your head. Not like you’re a telepath or anything.”

He was blushing, he was sure of it. He was thankful for his dark skin, for once in his life (that amount of shit he delt with with O was exhausting), that it could better hide the heat coming off his face. He made a noise, something between a whine and groan, and the Doctor…

The Doctor shushed him by placing her hand on his forehead, moving his hair out of his face and pushing it to the side. She had done it when they were children, and it was always something, years later, that calmed him down.

In retribution, the Master placed his legs over her, keeping her in place. She had always liked being cuddled – liked having someone physically close at all times. Still, it was some sort of honor to be allowed to be close to her now.

“I’m still angry at you.” He admitted, not sure he wanted to say exactly that as she was being so gentle with him.

“Good,” She replied, “I’m still angry at you as well.”

They looked at each other, eye to eye, and whatever tension was left in his body finally caved. Her hand went against his face, and the Master’s eyes closed against his will. Her kindness was almost too much. They moved closer, craving each other, foreheads touching.

In another world, they would melt into each other – minds molding together in a way that had them in perfect sync. They would smile, lips crashing together in a wave of perfect harmony, creating a peace in their minds.

Instead, the Doctor’s mental walls were high – a steel fortress that the Master knew meant danger if he dared tried to force his way through. He knew he lost the privilege to everything that was her, but staring at it so clearly was a slap to the face.

The Doctor, meanwhile, didn’t even try to reach out to him telepathically. Instead, eyes fluttering, she dared to place her lips on his. Instinct over matter, he lifted himself up slightly, deepening it. Before he knew what he was doing, he was placing himself over her, kneeling above her as his hands traced her body, caressing her sides.

She tensed, eyes flashing open. Her hands went to his shoulders, pushing – warning. “Don’t-”

They were always able to do this, before… Before Gallifrey. There was always a pause to their fighting, especially when it came to sex. There would be days when they slipped back into being just _them,_ from when they were children, madly in love and eager to be touched. There had days where they were in it to fight – to hurt each other in a controlled environment, even without saying what was truly wrong.

Fundamentally, they – or _she,_ he realized _–_ were always able to pretend.

He looked down at her, at the way she was trembling, nervous energy practically causing her to vibrate. She looked ready to flee.

He shouldn’t feel hurt at that – it was him, after all, that finally pushed them past this point.

She was practically heaving, “Don’t… Don’t like being trapped.”

He titled his head, wondering how she had come to that conclusion. His body weight was barely on her – most if it on his above her head. Still, it was hard to deny how freaked out she looked.

He pushed himself up, away from her, head spinning. She had initiated the kiss. He felt it again, that rising anger, and it was easy to leave the bed, fuming.

“Master,” The Doctor said, once again getting up from the bed, “It wasn’t you. I mean, part of it… I can’t… I didn’t mean…”

He had never heard her this tongue tied. He stopped looking for _something_ to put on, instead focusing on her. At least, this time, it didn’t look like she would faint when she got up from her bed.

He crossed his arms… And waited. He wasn’t willing to let her get away with this.

“Ever since… The paralysis field and… Prison,” She admitted, “I don’t like… Tight spaces. And when you were hovering over me like that, I… It felt like…”

The Master, truly, did not mean for the paralysis field to hurt her. Sure, it was uncomfortable, but he made sure that most of her time in it was in the matrix, rather than reality. He needed her trapped, yes, but not to the point that it would do _this._

An apology almost came to his lips. Maybe it did, with the way she was looking at him. At the very least, there must have been just enough guilt on his face for her to move past it. He found himself back in her arms, letting _her_ push them onto the bed, with her on top.

The Doctor had never liked being the one to lead. She had, and probably always will be, naïve when it comes to sex. Over the years, they learned that she didn’t really like being the one in control, rather more of submissive (though she hated that terminology) than a dominate. He, meanwhile, loved being in control, especially of her.

Still, he was all for new experiences, especially when she expertly raked her nails down his bare chest as she kissed his neck, bringing just enough pain to send a jolt right through him, making him hard.

“I-uh,” She said, daring to roll her hips _right_ there, “I know the basics of this, you know, with _you_ last time, but I haven’t…”

_Rassilon, save him._

“Oh, love,” He said, hands on her sides once again, pulling at her stupid rainbow shirt, “We’re going to have so much fun.”

She blushed and, to him, it was the most delicious thing he had ever seen. Unable to stop himself, he grabbed the front of the shirt he was previously trying to get off and dragged her into a hungry kiss. She made a noise of protest, but eventually fell into it. Her hands went to his trousers just as the Master deepened the kiss, halting her in undoing his belt.

In retaliation, the Master unclipped her suspenders. She pulled away, surprised, and the Master wasted no time in going for her neck, peppering it in soft kisses. The Doctor’s forehead went to his collarbone, practically panting.

“Tease.” She whispered, just as he sunk his teeth into her neck, making her shudder above him – not enough to make her bleed, but enough to leave her with a mark.

“You have far too many clothes on.”

She chuckled, “You too.”

Again, her hands went to his belt, and she pulled it off quickly, throwing it to the side. The Master, meanwhile, now had another suspender lose. It was her that pulled her shirt off, revealing a plain blue bra.

And wonderful, perfect, breasts.

He knew he had a _face_ on, simply staring at her with a slightly open mouth. He didn’t know he wanted to see her like this until the moment it happened. Oh, the things he could do to her. Yes, this body may be his favorite.

She didn’t wear tight fitting clothing, never had, and it was to his delight that she had more curves than he had ever expected. Not more than his last self, but enough that he found himself pushing himself up from the bed, unclipping the damned thing and tossing it as far as he could.

The Doctor was about to comment, but he didn’t want to talk. The urge to throw her to her side and ravish her with kisses, his mouth all over her, kissing every part of her skin, tasting her, was high. But he didn’t want to frighten her.

Instead, he tried for slow, “A compromise,” He said, “I’ll tell you everything I’m about to do before I do it.”

She paused, a thought in her eyes, and then… Hesitantly… “Okay.”

The smirk on his face must have been predatory.

“I’m going to put you on your back,” he whispered in her ear, “and I’m going to kiss every single part of your body until you’re begging me for more.”

Her whole body shuttered, “Do it, then.”

He growled at the challenge. He pushed at her, glad for the large bed, and she easily let herself fall on her back, smiling, but clearly nervous. It wasn’t going to stop him. Instead, just as he promised, he pulled away from her lips and knelt further down.

Making sure her eyes were on him, he dipped his head down, placing the smallest kiss on her skin just below her bellybutton. She tensed, wiggling, but the Master knew what they both wanted… And held off. Instead, he went higher, kissing up her sternum. Her head went back, breathing fast. Smirking, he brought his hand up, cupping her breast, loving the feel of it in his hand.

Different body – _very_ different body, but still the Doctor.

He flicked his thumb over her nipple, and she spasmed beneath him, making both a noise of protest and a whine of approval.

It was heavenly, and the Master would do anything to hear it again.

“Oh wow.”

He laughed at that, even as he rolled his eyes at her. Even in ecstasy, the Doctor couldn’t manage a curse. Even he had to admit that it was adorable.

She looked anything other than amused. Never to be outdone, the Doctor’s hand trailed down his chest once again, this time without the sting of small cuts, and reached for the waistband of his trousers, pulling at them.

Smirking now, her hand trailed lower, teasing him, and then gripping him ever so lightly. He was already hard, but now it was something of a need, rather than a want. Years of practice had him stilling in her hand rather than progressing it further. She was always so good with her hands… And her mouth. The Master wondered if she still had those skills. That was a hypothesis for later, however.

Growling, the image in his head too much, he pulled away and undid the button and zipper of his trousers. In a dance that must have been anything but graceful, they were off his body without getting off the bed.

Meanwhile, the Doctor was trying to do the same thing, lifting herself in the air by her feet and pulling at the offending fabric by the waistband. The Master was quick to help with that problem, grabbing her trousers by her claves (why did she wear such ill-fitting things?) and both of them managed to _finally_ be free of their clothes.

“Should have started with that.” The Doctor commented.

He hummed in agreement, but didn’t want to talk about something so mundane. In a familiar routine, the Master threaded their fingers together. He hesitated, remembering their compromise, but it was the Doctor that put her hands above her head. He pushed down with his body weight, pinning her in place - Helpless and beautiful.

He dared to wonder what that meant for him – why he liked her beneath him, why he felt nearly euphoric when there was no one for her to focus on but him. It was always like this… This game they played, across the universe. Why couldn’t he stop loving her?

She lifted her hips, impatient, and the Master’s thoughts stopped.

He placed himself at her entrance, feeling proud when he felt how wet she was, and on another day he would have complimented her for it. He was pleased to see that he wasn’t the only one desperate. He started slow, very slow, kissing her on her forehead as she stilled bellowed him, getting used to the sensation.

His past self had no problems adjusting to her new anatomy. The Doctor, however, looked overwhelmed. Still, she wasn’t one to back down from something she started. She pulled out of his loose grip on her hands and instead wrapped her arms around him, fingernails borrowing deep in his back, gripping him.

The Master buckled, going faster than he meant to, but the Doctor didn’t seem to mind. Her legs went around his hips, pulling him in deeper, and it was easy for him to follow her lead on this. He was all the way within her now, trembling as her walls constricted around him. She felt so _good._

“Amazing.” He said, the compliment rolling of his tongue.

“It’s…” The Doctor said, nose scrunched, “Different.”

Even buried in her, he managed a laugh, “Yes, it is. Good different?”

“Don’t know yet,” She replied, “Show me?”

The things he would do for her. The things he would _do_ to her.

Knowing it would ruin her, the Master pulled out slightly. She winced again, but he wasn’t done. He brought his hand down, rubbing at her, trying to find the very thing that made him crave his female body back.

The moment he found it, a simple swipe with the pad of his thumb up and down, had her crumpling, legs giving out. Her head went back, and she bit her lip, eyes closing as he did it again.

Properly distracted from any pain, he pushed himself inside her again, starting to get a rhythm. “Good?”

“Good. Really, really good,” She agreed, breathless, “Didn’t know… It could be… This good.”

“Oh, dear,” He told her, voice going low, “You have no idea.”

He quickened the pace then, hand still rubbing at her. She made _something_ that sound like both a prayer and scream.

“Wanna…” She said, “Wanna feel you…”

He was pretty damn sure he was feeling everything, but when the Doctor put two trembling fingers to his temple, he was quick to let his mental walls down. He didn’t know if it was the sex that did it, or the fact that he tried so hard to be respectful of her right now, but her mind was open to him again, practically worshipping him as they became one.

Thoughts echoed around him – both praises and long forgotten promises that slipped through in her moment of vulnerability. Fear came first (fear of him that he dared not think about), causing him to lose his rhythm for a moment. She batted at the thought as quickly as she could, instead showing him what _she_ was feeling.

“ _Fuck.”_ He breathed, foreheads touching. It was almost too much. She kissed him as he stilled, hands in his hair, pulling him in as if he was the very substances she needed to survive.

He could practically taste her love on his lips. It was heavenly, the trust that the Doctor gave him, even when all he wanted to do was hurt her.

Even when all he wanted to do was love her.

It didn’t take long after that for her to come. She did so with barely a word – instead, without warning, she bit into his shoulder, scratching at his back. Her whole body went tense, muscles convulsing, pulling the Master deeper and deeper in her.

He came then with her, fast, and was barely able form words as she pushed her own feelings of ecstasy on him. He just barely caught himself as his own orgasm ripped through him, making him boneless.

They were both panting when reality hit them again and the Master, still half hard, slide out of her slowly. Again, she winced, but didn’t say anything. The Master laid down on the bed, blissfully exhausted.

And another bliss came when she rolled over, placing her head on his shoulder, cuddling him. He kissed her forehead once again, saying ‘thank you’ in the only way he knew how.

“Think I like being a woman,” The Doctor said after a while, “Didn’t like a lot of it, but that was nice.”

He hummed, “The misogyny of other planets gets rather pathetic. Sex is great, though.”

She coughed, uncomfortable, obviously not liking where the Master had taken the conversation. She really shouldn’t blame him, he just had some of the best sex with her.

“Good holiday present.” She muttered.

He had no idea what she was talking about, but that happened more times than he could count. He hummed anyway, letting her have this moment. Then, smirking to himself, he couldn’t help but think that her skin was burning hot now, rather than freezing. It appeared their escapade warmed her up.

She said as much to her, and the blush that appeared made the mark on her neck stand out. She truly was-will be-is the death of him.

Or his long lasting torment… Would she continue gifting him regenerations? Is that how low he had come?

“Stop thinking,” She complained, exhausted, snuggling even closer to him, “Think tomorrow.”

“I’m usually the one telling you to stop thinking.”

She made of noise of agreement, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, the Master felt her mind drift as she fell into a peaceful sleep, her head still heavy on his shoulder.

His arm was going numb, her hair was in his eyes, and he desperately wanted a shower… Instead, he pulled the mound of blankets over them, making sure it covered her feet, and closed his eyes, enjoying the illusion of peace.

**Author's Note:**

> M a h. Gods, I hate this entire thing, but I worked so hard on it not to post it. 
> 
> As always, if you want to talk about Doctor Who, need someone to rant to, or just want a new blog to follow, I'm over on tumblr at cheerfullycynicalfandom.tumblr.com


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